“Sex hair,” I muttered wondering if the girls would notice I had sex hair and thinking Roberta and LaTanya wouldn’t miss it. It was highly likely Elvira wouldn’t either.
Mitch chuckled, pulled out but dropped to his back, taking me with him. Then he righted his jeans even as I straddled him.
I lifted my head, looked down at him and whispered, “I need to go clean up.”
His hands finished with his jeans, both went to cup the cheeks of my ass as he whispered back, “I know.”
He didn’t move. Or, more to the point, his hands didn’t leave my ass.
“Are you going to let me go so I can do that?” I asked.
“I am but I don’t wanna,” he answered and I stared down at him in my bed, my body relaxed but still tingling from the orgasm he gave me, my sex still throbbing from his c**k driving inside me and it hit me again this was my life. This man was mine.
And I remembered when he fixed my washer. I watched him walk through my house to get to the bathroom and how I wanted that to be commonplace.
Now it was.
He slept in my bed. He showered in my shower. We were a team taking care of our kids. And he’d just f**ked me hard, I was off to do my thing, he was off to do his thing and he didn’t want to let me go.
“What?” I heard Mitch ask gently and I realized my eyes were on him but I wasn’t seeing him even though my thoughts were also on him. His hands slid from my bottom to become arms wrapped around me and before I could answer, he asked, “Baby, what’re you thinkin’?”
“You know how you said you were into me since you saw me four years ago?” I asked back.
“Yeah,” he answered.
“Well, I was into you too,” I told him and he grinned.
“I know.”
I shook my head. “No, what I mean is, I was so into you, I convinced myself I was in love with you. So, when you first came in here to change my washer and I was such a dork, it was a form of torture because I was such a dork. And at the same time I wanted nothing more than to see you move through my house like you moved through my house every day and now…well…you do. Uh…” I hesitated, “move through my house every day that is.”
“You weren’t a dork,” Mitch said softly.
“I totally was,” I replied just as softly and he grinned again.
“Okay, you were but you were a cute one.”
I rolled my eyes.
Mitch’s arms gave me a squeeze and when I rolled my eyes back to him I saw he wasn’t grinning anymore.
“Best thing that ever happened to me, that shredded washer,” he whispered.
“Too bad I didn’t know what a washer was or I would have shredded it myself,” I whispered back and he burst out laughing.
Then he rolled, shifted, moved and we were both on our feet with Mitch yanking down my skirt.
“Clean up, honey,” he muttered. “And I’ll take you to your girls.” He dipped his head and touched my lips with his before he turned and walked out of the room.
I nabbed my panties and walked into the bathroom to clean up and, while there, I ascertained I did, in fact, have sex hair. I left it like it was. So Roberta, LaTanya and Elvira cottoned on and gave me stick.
Whatever.
I had a hot guy, police detective who couldn’t keep his hands off me. I could go to drinks with the girls with sex hair. I could go anywhere with sex hair. I should be shouting it from the rooftops, Look at me! I have sex hair given to me by Detective Mitch Lawson!
I grinned to myself as I did my business, retraced my steps, grabbed my forgotten bag and walked to Mitch who was back at his file at the bar. I made it to him, my eyes going down to the file and my eyebrows snapping together at what I saw right before his arm slid along my waist and he shut the folder.
“Right,” he muttered, his arm tensing to move us, “let’s hit the road.”
My body locked and I looked up at him.
“Why do you have a sketch of Otis?”
His head tilted slightly to the side and he asked, “What?”
“In that folder,” I tipped my head to the folder. “Why do you have a sketch of Mr. Pierson’s cousin Otis?”
It was then Mitch’s brows knitted and he studied me closely. He looked down the folder, flipped it open and flipped through papers until he reached the sketch of Otis.
“Are you talking about that?” he asked, tapping the sketch with his finger but his words were strange, cautious.
“Yeah,” I answered, looking at the sketch then I looked at Mitch. “That’s Otis Pierson. Mr. Pierson’s cousin. He works at the store.”
Mitch stared at me, his arm suddenly very tight but he didn’t say a word.
Crap!
I knew what that meant seeing as he was a police detective that was a folder probably from work and in it was a sketch of Otis.
It was me who was talking cautiously when I asked, “Is Otis in trouble?”
“Mara –” Mitch started but I kept talking.
“I mean, I wouldn’t be surprised. Otis is kind of like Mr. Pierson’s Bill except, I thought, without the felonious aspects.”
“Mara –” Mitch began again but I kept right on talking.
“Still, that would stink, you investigating a member of Mr. Pierson’s family.”
“Mara, baby,” his arm gave me a squeeze, his voice coming at me carefully, gently, “that sketch is the sketch the artist drew from the description Bud gave him of the man that came to their house.”
My body locked.
Then I whispered, “What?”
“Fuck,” Mitch whispered back and his eyes drifted over my head.
“Mitch,” I called, putting my hand on his chest and pushing in lightly. “Are you serious? That’s the bad man Billie was talking about?”
“Fuck, f**k, f**k!” Mitch clipped then lifted a hand, tore his fingers through his hair and looked down at the sketch.
“Mitch!” I cried, beginning to get freaked. “Talk to me!”
He looked at me and declared strangely, “The mattresses.”
I shook my head. “Honey, you aren’t making sense.”
His head dipped closer to mine and his other arm curled around me. “You say that man works for Bob Pierson?”
I nodded my head. “Yes. In the warehouse. He does a lot of the ordering, or he did until he kept messing it up.”
“Jesus, shit,” Mitch muttered, looking over my head again.
“Mitch!” I exclaimed, pressing into his chest again and his eyes came back to me.
Mitch chuckled, pulled out but dropped to his back, taking me with him. Then he righted his jeans even as I straddled him.
I lifted my head, looked down at him and whispered, “I need to go clean up.”
His hands finished with his jeans, both went to cup the cheeks of my ass as he whispered back, “I know.”
He didn’t move. Or, more to the point, his hands didn’t leave my ass.
“Are you going to let me go so I can do that?” I asked.
“I am but I don’t wanna,” he answered and I stared down at him in my bed, my body relaxed but still tingling from the orgasm he gave me, my sex still throbbing from his c**k driving inside me and it hit me again this was my life. This man was mine.
And I remembered when he fixed my washer. I watched him walk through my house to get to the bathroom and how I wanted that to be commonplace.
Now it was.
He slept in my bed. He showered in my shower. We were a team taking care of our kids. And he’d just f**ked me hard, I was off to do my thing, he was off to do his thing and he didn’t want to let me go.
“What?” I heard Mitch ask gently and I realized my eyes were on him but I wasn’t seeing him even though my thoughts were also on him. His hands slid from my bottom to become arms wrapped around me and before I could answer, he asked, “Baby, what’re you thinkin’?”
“You know how you said you were into me since you saw me four years ago?” I asked back.
“Yeah,” he answered.
“Well, I was into you too,” I told him and he grinned.
“I know.”
I shook my head. “No, what I mean is, I was so into you, I convinced myself I was in love with you. So, when you first came in here to change my washer and I was such a dork, it was a form of torture because I was such a dork. And at the same time I wanted nothing more than to see you move through my house like you moved through my house every day and now…well…you do. Uh…” I hesitated, “move through my house every day that is.”
“You weren’t a dork,” Mitch said softly.
“I totally was,” I replied just as softly and he grinned again.
“Okay, you were but you were a cute one.”
I rolled my eyes.
Mitch’s arms gave me a squeeze and when I rolled my eyes back to him I saw he wasn’t grinning anymore.
“Best thing that ever happened to me, that shredded washer,” he whispered.
“Too bad I didn’t know what a washer was or I would have shredded it myself,” I whispered back and he burst out laughing.
Then he rolled, shifted, moved and we were both on our feet with Mitch yanking down my skirt.
“Clean up, honey,” he muttered. “And I’ll take you to your girls.” He dipped his head and touched my lips with his before he turned and walked out of the room.
I nabbed my panties and walked into the bathroom to clean up and, while there, I ascertained I did, in fact, have sex hair. I left it like it was. So Roberta, LaTanya and Elvira cottoned on and gave me stick.
Whatever.
I had a hot guy, police detective who couldn’t keep his hands off me. I could go to drinks with the girls with sex hair. I could go anywhere with sex hair. I should be shouting it from the rooftops, Look at me! I have sex hair given to me by Detective Mitch Lawson!
I grinned to myself as I did my business, retraced my steps, grabbed my forgotten bag and walked to Mitch who was back at his file at the bar. I made it to him, my eyes going down to the file and my eyebrows snapping together at what I saw right before his arm slid along my waist and he shut the folder.
“Right,” he muttered, his arm tensing to move us, “let’s hit the road.”
My body locked and I looked up at him.
“Why do you have a sketch of Otis?”
His head tilted slightly to the side and he asked, “What?”
“In that folder,” I tipped my head to the folder. “Why do you have a sketch of Mr. Pierson’s cousin Otis?”
It was then Mitch’s brows knitted and he studied me closely. He looked down the folder, flipped it open and flipped through papers until he reached the sketch of Otis.
“Are you talking about that?” he asked, tapping the sketch with his finger but his words were strange, cautious.
“Yeah,” I answered, looking at the sketch then I looked at Mitch. “That’s Otis Pierson. Mr. Pierson’s cousin. He works at the store.”
Mitch stared at me, his arm suddenly very tight but he didn’t say a word.
Crap!
I knew what that meant seeing as he was a police detective that was a folder probably from work and in it was a sketch of Otis.
It was me who was talking cautiously when I asked, “Is Otis in trouble?”
“Mara –” Mitch started but I kept talking.
“I mean, I wouldn’t be surprised. Otis is kind of like Mr. Pierson’s Bill except, I thought, without the felonious aspects.”
“Mara –” Mitch began again but I kept right on talking.
“Still, that would stink, you investigating a member of Mr. Pierson’s family.”
“Mara, baby,” his arm gave me a squeeze, his voice coming at me carefully, gently, “that sketch is the sketch the artist drew from the description Bud gave him of the man that came to their house.”
My body locked.
Then I whispered, “What?”
“Fuck,” Mitch whispered back and his eyes drifted over my head.
“Mitch,” I called, putting my hand on his chest and pushing in lightly. “Are you serious? That’s the bad man Billie was talking about?”
“Fuck, f**k, f**k!” Mitch clipped then lifted a hand, tore his fingers through his hair and looked down at the sketch.
“Mitch!” I cried, beginning to get freaked. “Talk to me!”
He looked at me and declared strangely, “The mattresses.”
I shook my head. “Honey, you aren’t making sense.”
His head dipped closer to mine and his other arm curled around me. “You say that man works for Bob Pierson?”
I nodded my head. “Yes. In the warehouse. He does a lot of the ordering, or he did until he kept messing it up.”
“Jesus, shit,” Mitch muttered, looking over my head again.
“Mitch!” I exclaimed, pressing into his chest again and his eyes came back to me.
